


Kaleidoscopic

by Coprolite



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Vampires, a lil daddy kink, references to youngjae x all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coprolite/pseuds/Coprolite
Summary: Youngjae's on the run.





	Kaleidoscopic

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/31/16

It’s the cut on his inner lip.

 

Youngjae runs his tongue over the sore and experiences a jolt, a stagnant sting to the nerves. This must be something like the hundredth time he’s done so in the last hour. Prodding at it anymore will definitely irritate it enough to the point of expanding and rushing with blood. Yet, despite that, he gnaws at it with fervor, biting and twisting his lips. His sharp incisors graze the unfortunately placed wound.

 

He’s like a child exploring some sick kind of conundrum. There’s no doubt that his mouth hurts, but he keeps touching and teasing it as if the sensation may be different this time around. It’s been like this for a week almost--obviously unable to heal under such conditions. He wonders if this is the development of a new bad habit. Although, who is he, a man of poor self control, to deny a chronic tick? Would be a shame to turn one away.

 

Besides, his surely swollen and inflamed lips are perfect for enveloping the end of a cigarette. The blunt of which he occasionally uses to poke at the cut, as well. Luckily, the train platform is barren, allowing for him to indulge.

 

It’s twenty minutes past midnight as he awaits the last train of the night. This wasn’t his original plan, but sad circumstances have left him here. It’s befitting, he supposes, seeing he is one himself. Fucking literary poetry.

 

The train pulls up to him with a rush of air and blaring horns.

 

It extinguishes his smoke.

 

The inside car lacks the same frigid chill as outside. He had forgotten that it isn’t supposed to hurt to breath. Just seconds earlier, blistering gales ravaged his lips. He remedies this absence, however, by applying further pressure to the cut with his tongue. What a sweet dull ache.  

 

Funny how tolerance builds up over time. He needs so much more now.

 

The train conductor’s voice mumbles over the speakers and into his car. It’s a low slur of words that fails to inform him of anything, even with the sentence being repeated twice. However, it’s probably better this way.

 

Leaning his temple against the chilled window, he watches the kaleidoscope of city lights rush past him. There isn’t much to sightsee at night, especially ninety miles per hour. It’s a blur of hushed blues and blatant yellows.

 

You’d think that hitch hiking and stowing away in trucks for years would numb him to scenery, but it had only made him crave it exponentially. He had never been able to stop and examine the cities he was in, even after traversing so much of the country. His carefully structured schedule resembled the following: travel, travel, travel, sleep, travel. This definitely didn’t fit his idea of freedom, but it sure as hell beat the alternative.

 

He’ll ride until the last stop. Then, maybe sleep on one of the train station benches until morning, when it’s safe. He’s an idiot for trying to migrate at night.  

 

Three days and two nights: that was how long he stayed in the city (with the cut worsening in that time). It was the longest he had remained in one place in quite a while, even years maybe. And there was nothing particularly special about the area which caused his extended visit. Perhaps, though, that was what Youngjae liked. He revels in the dull and tepid.

 

But he saw the headlines of this morning’s newspapers and knew it was time to go. The articles had alluded to a grotesque and violent spree of murders propagating in the adjacent city. Victims presented themselves with disfigured faces, sunken skin, and unusual bites. Whole chunks of flesh torn from their persons. Investigators attributed something so carnal to wild animals hunting in packs. It seemed logical enough.

 

They surely act like animals, Youngjae scoffs, his eyes reflecting passing lights. Soon the problem will migrate closer. Best to leave now while ahead.

 

 

Four hours out from the city and he still feels too close.

 

The time nears five in the morning when he steps off. The doors behind him haven’t even shut before he’s already lighting up and taking a drag from a smoke. His eyes are heavy and overly sensitive to any and all light, yet he weighs his options: rest and start in the morning or keep traveling.

 

The station smelled of rancid urine for all the fifteen seconds he was inside, and the streets outside are of the same nature. He liked the last city more. It had been lush with foliage, smelled of honeysuckle and money. Then again, he also enjoyed the one before that, along with the others prior.

 

There’s an odd sereness granted at this time of night. The only noise penetrating the air is that of the faint buzz of street lights. They cast him long shadows and silhouettes. He looks over his shoulder periodically, scrutinizing the figures appearing in the corner of his eye.

 

He stops mid-stride and weaves into a secluded alleyway, the trail of his smoke wafting behind him. Youngjae leans himself against the wall, one leg propped up against it. He takes a deep inhale, the embers of his cigarette igniting.

 

A body rounds the corner, only to be quickly reprimanded by Youngjae with an arm around their throat. He has the man in his hold, “Why the fuck are you following me,” he hisses, cigarette gritted between his teeth.

 

When he gets no response, Youngjae takes his smoke between his fingers and twists it against the stalker’s cheek. This invokes a screech of pain, or the faint lining of one, if not for Youngjae pressing his arm against the other’s windpipe.

 

He throws him to the ground with a shattering thud. “Fucking lackey, what do you know?” he delivers a swift kick to the stomach. He goes in for another when a rattle behind Youngjae makes him stop. Without even turning around, he runs out of the alley and to the street.

 

His heart drums against his ears as he rushes down the empty road. Every week for three years: it’s a sickening schedule of constantly running. Even he’s surprised he’s lasted this long. But the alternative to hiding is worse, he thinks. Youngjae clutches onto his concealed pocket knife.

 

There must be a motel nearby where he could stay for a day or two until things settle down--

 

He’ll find one a mile out.

 

The security is low on this one, along with its quality. It looks like the kind of place you’d pay not to stay in. As if the motel had no concept what turning on the ‘no’ in front of their neon vacancy sign could possibly mean.

 

It’s perfect, Youngjae breathes.

 

Bypassing the front desk, he heads out to one of the rooms in the furthest back corners and picks the lock. The door is grimey with a layer of dust. But he desperately needs to be reminded of a warm shower. He’ll be gone before anyone notices a spike in the water bill. A shower and a nap and he’d be good again. By morning he’d be boarding a bus to some other obscure destination.

 

Surprisingly, the bathroom fairs in better condition. The hot water soothes his aching joints.  He basks in the scent of lavender.

 

Afterwards, putting on a fresh pair of clothes (found conveniently at a local laundromat the other day), he smiles. The clothes seemed fitted for a woman larger than himself with the v-neck and shorts draping his body, but it’s something.

 

His usual clothes were already hung up drying over the shower after a good wash in the sink. So, it’ll do for the time being. Any clothing is good clothing.

 

He likes that the room had a low drum of air running through the vents. Youngjae never did like the quiet as it tended to leave him alone with his thoughts. Traveling alone for so long has introduced to him how absolutely fucking sick of himself he is. Alone for twenty-four hours at a time, what pure torture.

 

There used to be someone he traveled with, but that was almost a year ago.

 

It isn’t until his lip is already well and bleeding does he realize how hard he’s been chewing at it. His blood is smeared across his face as he wipes away at it with his forearm. Thankfully, the sheets looked undamaged.

 

Fuck, he swears while his legs untangle from the itchy cotton blankets. He enters the bathroom with staggered steps, hurriedly turning the faucet. Under dimmed lighting, he scrubs his face raw with water to remove the blood stains. But the area around his lips break even more under the furious washing The ceramic sink beneath him runs a faint red.

 

Panic breeds anxiety.

 

The reflection before him looks frantic. The sight of blood anywhere near him sends him over the edge. With his stomach in knots, he dry heaves into the sink. Thankfully there’s no food to digest and regurgitate back up for him.

 

His knuckles turn white from the stony grip on the bathroom counter. Twenty-three and he still gets queasy. What a fucking joke. The bleeding only stops after twisting his head and leaving it under the running faucet for a minute.

 

Life wasn’t always like this. He could remember a time when he was fed regularly and didn’t break into trashy motel rooms. And, yet, thinking back, he still prefers this present situation infinitely more.

 

The lights to the bathroom turn off and he steps back towards the bed with sheets reminiscent of a decade earlier. He doesn’t believe he’ll be able to sleep well this night either. His lip feels as if it has been torn off. He has no one else to blame but himself.

 

Despite that, he has a long list of men he curses in his head. He runs off these names and finds himself gnawing on his broken lip, only to immediately flinch at the sensation again. Fucking idiot, he scolds himself.

 

He runs a tongue to soothe it, but intensifies the sting instead. He gags at the taste of blood flooding his mouth. How barbaric.

 

A knock breaks his consciousness.

 

Youngjae’s eyes adjust themselves in the dark quickly and peer at the door which reverberates slightly with each bang. He wastes no time in gathering his belongings. He throws his bag and his sopping wet clothes from the shower over his shoulder. His fingers pry open the bathroom window, prepared to escape into the chilled night with nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.

 

His anxiety softens when a rush of wind greets his face, but that’s when he realizes the knocking had stopped.

 

A hand swiftly covers Youngjae’s mouth and pushes him back from the window. His back harshly collides with the tiled flooring. His lips part to release a silent anguished cry.

 

“So I guess the rumors were wrong, Youngjae.”

 

Youngjae crawls backwards as the figure climbs through the window and towards him, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

 

“Oh, what? Are you saying that after three long years, you didn’t miss daddy Daehyun?” his tone is patronizing. He glances down at Youngjae’s hand, clutched in his pocket. “Are you happy to see me or is that a knife in your pants,” he runs his fingers down Youngjae’s petrified body and disarms his knife away, sliding it behind them.

 

Youngjae can’t catch his breath. So this is what years on the run amounts to: dying in the bathroom of a dingy motel. “You’re not my father,” Youngjae seethes, however the effectiveness of his anger is lost as he focuses his eyes away from Daehyun’s gaze.

 

Daehyun lifts Youngjae’s chin up with a finger so that their gazes meet, “Such insolence,” he clicks his tongue. “Living as an urchin sure has sullied your manners. No matter, though, it’s not anything I can’t discipline back. You know, I thought things would be harder,” he leans in closer, prompting Youngjae to flinch back, all the way until his back is to the floor and Daehyun has him properly straddled.

 

“Didn’t I raise you to be smarter, Jae? I guess the underlings were too easy for you, but I at least thought you’d put up a better fight once I decided to get involved. It only took me a day to track you down. Thanks for leaving a trail for me to follow, by the way,” Daehyun whispers this as he runs a quick flick of his tongue over Youngjae’s damaged lips. “Why don’t you come home with daddy?”

 

Youngjae feels so small. He’s like a pathetic teenager again. His mind recalls memories of his wasted adolescence. “You’re not my father,” he growls, each word punctuated by the further gritting of his teeth.

 

Daehyun draws back and looks down at him. The man looks no older than Youngjae himself. “Oh, that’s right, your real dad is rotting in a hole somewhere. How fucking nice. Like it or not, Youngjae, the others and I were the ones who raised you,” the grip which Daehyun has on Youngjae’s wrists tighten. “So why don’t we return home so Junhong can finally stop complaining? You’d think the boy was running low on iron or something ever since you’ve been gone,” he chuckles. “He whines about bringing you home every day. But I told everyone else to let you have your fun. But I think it’s gotten excessive, don’t you?”

 

Youngjae thrashes beneath him as his skin crawls at the sound of his words, “You fucking killed my dad! Get the fuck off of me, you freak of nature,” he exclaims at the top of his lungs. He no longer cares about the ramifications of being caught in the motel. He wants out of this soulless place.

 

His head gets slammed hard against the ground.

 

He sees stars.

 

“I didn’t want to do that, sweetie. But why do you always have to be such a fucking brat all the time?” he cradles Youngjae’s head, “Besides, you were just a baby, it’s not like you even remember what the bastard looked like. You can’t have an emotional attachment to him or your mother, fucking idiot. Me and the boys are all you have,” his hand travels from Youngjae’s forming bruise and to his neck. “And if you don’t want to end up like them, I strongly advise you to be on your best behavior.”

 

“Fine,” Youngjae spits. “Kill me! End this insufferable life now,” he kicks up a storm, wriggling about in hopes to retrieve his knife and make good on the threats.

 

The echo of Daehyun’s hand slapping Youngjae’s face hits his ear drums. Daehyun peers down at him with narrowed eyes, the canines of his teeth bared. There were few times Youngjae ever saw him this angry. Once was when he was fifteen and was caught asking around the covenant about his family history and seventeen when he tried running away the first time.

 

Daehyun carerresses the blooming spot of red, “You look just like your mother, do you know that?” His voice is reminiscent and soft. “And you act like her too,” he slams his fist down besides Youngjae’s head as if he’s trying to control his frustration. “She said the same thing you did before she died. You vampire hunters and your pathetic pride,” he rolls his eyes. “I guess nature versus nurture was wrong.”

 

Daehyun kisses his bruise and Youngjae retreats back. He can hear each pump of blood from his heart and its increasing rate, and he knows for sure Daehyun can, as well. His lips trail off from his cheek and to his mouth where Daehyun suckles on his tender flesh, sucking on it hard. He stains both of them red.

 

Youngjae’s breath quickens as his body responds to the familiar stimuli. He shuts his eyes tight and tries to block out the way his own hips buck up to meet Daehyun. God, this is torture. He can’t breathe.

 

Daehyun’s husky voice whispers into his ears, “You missed being fucked by daddy, right?” He grinds their bodies together. The sweet friction blinds Youngjae. It’s searing into him.

 

It’s been so long since Youngjae’s had this feeling. He hasn’t experienced an orgasm in years due to stress and being on the run. He feels like a virgin again with each touch sending him over the edge like a novice. This flustered mess of himself reminds him of when he was eighteen and about to be fucked by Daehyun for the first time ever. And in those weeks afterwards, he had given into the rest of his daddies, craving more. He doesn’t want to go through the hormonal or pheromonal rage ever again.

 

Experienced fingers run up Youngjae’s stomach. Daehyun remembers all the things which turn Youngjae into a crying, whining disaster.

 

The way in which Daehyun’s name rolls off Youngjae’s tongue as the other pinches his nipples is excruciatingly perfect.

 

His lungs can hardly keep up with his moans and pants. He mewls under each of Daehyun’s ministrations, be it sloppy kisses or teasing hands along his ass.

 

“It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone’s cock up you. I wonder if it’s going to hurt more,” Daehyun takes Youngjae’s hand and guides it to the button of his jeans, “You still remember what daddy likes, don’t you?”

 

Youngjae nods and starts undoing Daehyun’s pants, pulling them down and revealing the hard cock under his briefs. It throbs in his palms and feels hot. He fumbles to pull down the underwear and for a moment is scared. He had forgotten how endowed Daehyun was.

 

He strokes his member eagerly, hoping to hear praise and in turn receive a reward. Daehyun pets his head, smoothing down his hair softly. He smiles down at him.

 

“What a good boy, Jae. Why don’t we put that snarky mouth of yours to use?” Daehyun runs his thumb along Youngjae’s lower lip.

 

Daehyun leads him towards the bed so that he may take a more comfortable position. His back rests against the headboard with Youngjae kneeling by his legs at the foot of the bed.

 

Youngjae’s mouth descends down and nearly gags as he engulfs the length. He relaxes his throat and lowers himself further, trying to get all of Daehyun into his mouth. If this had been any of the other boys, it would have been easier.

 

He moans as he bobs his head up and down, deep throating him. He does this until the back of his throat is inflamed. He puts his hands to good use, stroking Daehyun as he brings his head up and down against his length, touching what his mouth can’t take.

 

Daehyun’s fingers entangle themselves in Youngjae’s hair, pulling and tugging. He has his hair fisted like some kind of makeshift handle. He lifts Youngjae’s face up and down with it, harshly face fucking him. He pulses against his tongue.

 

Youngjae’s mouth comes up from Daehyun’s cock with a resounding pop. His eyes are red and blurry. He’s long past the point of no return. His loose shorts have somehow become even too restraining for his needy erection. “Daehyun, please,” Youngjae begs, looking forlorn with his cheek by Daehyun's member.

 

“Please...?”

 

“Please, daddy, fuck this little slut,” he begs, positioning himself on all fours for Daehyun.

 

Nights like these are partially the reason why Youngjae ran away and attempted so many other times before. He buries his face in the sheets to hide his blushing face. The only child to two renowned hunters just begging to be fucked by a monster. How pitiful.

 

Youngjae never met his parents but he’s sure they’d regret ever spawning him.

 

Daehyun pulls his head up from the bed by the scraps of his hair and rewards him with a kiss that’s all tongue and gnashing of teeth. The last of their clothing is discarded and Daehyun begins to circle Youngjae’s hole with a finger.

 

“Please play with me, daddy. I need you,” he breathes heavily, desiring to be entered with something thicker.

 

“What a beautiful picture: you on your knees and begging to be fucked,” Daehyun hums. “I suppose I should reward you for such good behavior, even if you’re being a slut,” he strides back to the coat that was discarded earlier and retrieves something from the pocket. It’s a bottle of lube which Daehyun begins to lather upon his fingers generously. “Who's your favorite daddy?”

 

“You are,” Youngjae squeals as the cold fingers at long last enter him, filling his unused hole. Youngjae had wanted to cum so many times in the past, but his mind would always draw back to moments like these and he’d have to stop his thoughts as shame would wrap around him. But fuck, it feels so good. “I love the way you tease and touch me. I love you more than Yongguk or Jongup.”

 

Daehyun smiles approvingly, “That’s right. I always treated you the best, didn’t I?” he adds another finger, “Even when you didn’t deserve it. Like now,” he thrusts his fingers hard. “I could have entered you raw and you still would have loved it, wouldn’t you? Cause that’s the kind of whore you are. You ran away from home and look at you now, begging to be fucked by my cock in a place like this,” Daehyun removes his fingers. “Prepare yourself.”

 

Youngjae scrambles onto his back and spreads his legs wide open for Daehyun. He watches him eagerly as he positions himself over his frail body. He’s had recurring dreams about things like this. He releases a lengthy moan as Daehyun enters him, spreading apart his walls.

 

He’s the perfect size to reach everything in him and then some. Daehyun thrusts inside him and pushes on his prostate. Youngjae wants to cry from the sheer pleasure of it as his eyes well with his tears. Each erratic thrust causes a droplet to escape and stream down his cheek. More. More. More.

 

“Harder, daddy,” he cries.  

 

“How fucking needy,” Daehyun grunts as he ruts against Youngjae’s body. “Do you want everyone to know what a dirty nymphomaniac you are?”

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” each word punctuated by Daehyun pounding into him mercilessly.

 

Daehyun’s hands are so firmly gripped onto Youngjae’s hips that he’s sure they’ll be black and purple within hours.

 

Daehyun’s breaths cascade over his neck. Youngjae cums when he feels teeth sink into his taut flesh. Daehyun laps up his blood.

 

Youngjae’s overly sensitive but Daehyun’s not done yet and he keeps going and going, fucking him hard. Youngjae experiences two orgasms within minutes of each other. He’s sobbing at how amazing and used he is. He’s so spent but Daehyun fucking him keeps him going.

 

He takes a grip of Youngjae’s penis and strokes him in time with each thrust.

 

“Daddy, please,” Youngjae covers his face with his arms. Tears wet his skin.

 

“Look at what a fucking mess you are. You look as if you’ve never been fucked in your life,” he growls, “All the other boys are going to want to have a go at you, as well.” Youngjae cries as the grip on his penis tightens, it’s so tight that his next orgasm is dry.

 

He thinks about how Daehyun is telling the truth. Junhong, Jongup, Himchan, and Yongguk will all definitely have their turn with him eventually. And it will all feel just as amazing as this moment. Some of them may not even wait and he’ll have two at a time. Shit, the idea turns him on so much.

 

Daehyun’s cum overflows inside him, filling him up.

 

“Listen, Youngjae,” Daehyun leans down, “I’m going to give you two days. The first to allow you to recover and walk and the second to run.”

 

Youngjae looks up at him, shocked.

 

“I don’t think this game was quite as satisfying. Put up a better fight.”

 

Youngjae awakes the next morning alone in bed.


End file.
